


c h o i c e s

by SomeRainMustFall



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Author has a problem, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Gen, Hand Gagging, buuuut author is not going to stop, smothering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:41:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23200381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: Malcolm has two choices.Neither of them are very good, he supposes.One: he stays still.Two: he doesn't.×Bad Things Happen Bingo 'hand gagging' square.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664860
Comments: 34
Kudos: 179





	c h o i c e s

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, this IS just another fic where I make Malcolm do that adorable thing where he can't breathe. Don't @ me. 
> 
> (Or do, if you want more 👀 @asmolwhumper on Tumblr)

Malcolm has two choices.

Neither of them are very good, he supposes.

One: he stays still. He remains where he is, with the bloody hand of their killer over his mouth, the man's other arm wrapped tight around his chest, the barrel of a gun pressed snug under his chin.

He stays still, and he stares at Gil, Dani, JT, and the gathering police presence as they try to get him out of this alive.

Two: he doesn't. He does something stupid, something Gil's silently begging him not to every time their eyes meet. Perhaps he knocks his head back onto the man's nose, causing the shot that will end his own life to be fired...or not. Maybe he bites the hand, gets his mouth free to talk it out.

This killer won't listen to reason. The last time Malcolm had tried, the second time they'd run across him and he'd escaped, he'd knocked Malcolm against a wall, slammed his head against it so hard he'd blacked out and woken up in JT's arms, being carried outside and to the waiting ambulance.

Just a mild concussion, he'd assured Gil. Nothing he couldn't work through to finish the case.

This is where it's led them. A police stand-off, with him as the human shield.

Never a way he thought he'd go down, really. He'd pictured something spectacular. An explosion, fireworks. A purposeful jump off the highest building. Something he could control. Something that saved lives in the process.

This death will be meaningless. If he's killed, no one will be better off except him. And he thinks that's what scares him the most.

His hand trembles, resting on the man's arm. Their killer doesn't like that, and hisses for him to stop. 

Malcolm can't tell him that's not possible. He just trembles. The gun digs into him just a little harder, makes it just a little more difficult to breathe, and Malcolm's hand shakes just a little harder. 

He can't catch his breath well enough through his nose. Things start to go a bit dim, and he fights to focus.

They're offering him what he wants. That's good. Maybe Malcolm will get out of this yet. 

Their killer yells back that he wants more. More things they can't possibly give him.

And that angers him.

"Breathe in deep," he murmurs into Malcolm's ear, and Malcolm does out of sheer surprise. He hadn't expected to be addressed, let alone so _gently._

And then the man adjusts his hold on Malcolm's mouth to cover his nose, too, pinching it shut with two fingers.

Malcolm jerks. So does Gil. Dani adjusts her hold on her gun, sees if she has a better shot.

She doesn't. Their killer has planned this perfectly.

"You have as long as he does," the man says, "to get me what I want. Or you can let him die, and I go out taking at _least_ one life, maybe more if I can get a shot out before you. I have my eye on that black-haired beauty right there. Powell, I heard? Pretty name."

"Let him go," she says.

"When I get my car," he says. 

"It's coming!" Gil shouts. "They're getting it!"

"When I get my _money."_

"You're not getting your money!" 

"Then your boy's not getting out of this."

Malcolm closes his eyes, and does his best to think. 

There has to be something he hasn't thought of yet. There has to be.

His chest starts to burn. He gags against the man's palm. 

"Clock's ticking," their killer says. "He can't wait forever, and neither can I."

There's noise, scattering movements of officers, more sirens approaching. They pull up an unmarked van, and Malcolm's vision is starting to fog. 

"Hold on, kid!" Gil tells him.

"He's holding alright," their killer says. "Real set of lungs on this one. You're lucky for that. Where'd the beauty go? Can't see her anymore. Ooh—"

Malcolm's legs give out. The man lifts him back up and leans back a bit, resting his weight against his chest and keeping him there as he involuntarily squirms. 

"Time's almost up! Tell me I'm getting my money."

"We don't have approval!" JT says. "There's no way!"

"Guess I should have taken more hostages," the man says. His voice is starting to fade along with the rest of the world, but the pain stretching to every inch of Malcolm's body only increases.

He can feel himself starting to lose consciousness. He can't see anything at all anymore.

Two options. Only two.

He has to pick one. He has to make a choice, or he's not going to live to make another. 

He refuses to go down without a fight. He braces his foot against the ground, ready to slam himself back with the very, very last of his strength. 

He readies himself—

And hears a gunshot. 

His whole body flinches, but it wasn't the gun beneath his head. It was a little more distant, but then, everything is.

He feels himself falling. He hits the ground, and the impact knocks air he doesn't have out of him.

Things are dark. Silent.

Death is different than he imagined. 

And then he's breathing. He's gasping hard, convulsing with the force of it, and hands are around him again.

He panics. Yells out something even _he_ can't comprehend and struggles. 

"Kid! Kid, it's me, it's me!" 

"Gil—" he croaks, and falls limp again.

"Don't try to talk. It's okay. Just breathe. You're okay." He sits Malcolm up and cradles him close, rubbing his back in a circular motion, soothing the rough wheezes into something slightly calmer. 

"Where…?" he asks, and then looks down. Gil's left foot is in blood, and his body is obscuring another. It writhes, and Malcolm is relieved.

"He's still alive," Dani says to his left. "Got a clear shot from behind. It's a _damn_ good thing you're so short."

JT laughs, like a roll of thunder in a distant storm. 

"Not short," Malcolm rasps. "Average." 

And then he faints, so he doesn't hear any—likely _wrong—_ response.

**x**

Dani helps him up the stairs to his apartment that night, and Malcolm gets to thank her again. He's still woozy, a bit sedated, and she helps him get ready for bed.

"This is becoming a habit," she says, strapping him into his restraints.

"Bad one?" Malcolm asks, eyes barely open.

"Nah," she says, patting his chest. 

It sends something through him. He doesn't know what, has never felt it before, but it's good. He kind of wants her to touch him again. Something seizes inside of him at the thought.

But there are choices he has to make, and that isn't one he goes with.

Instead, he closes his eyes. 

"Goodnight, Bright," she says.

"Goodnight, Dani."

And then she's gone, and there's a smile on his lips as he falls asleep.


End file.
